


Good for You

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Entourage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-21
Updated: 2005-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1623815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for estrella</p>
    </blockquote>





	Good for You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for estrella

 

 

Vince fell in love with acting in the third grade. He tried out for the school play mostly to spite the boy who had told him he was too pretty for the basketball team. He got the lead because how many other eight year old boys in Queens wanted to get up on the stage and recite lines and wear a costume?

But he also got applause, stole the fucking show, made his mom proud and made Johnny look at him with new eyes. He got to be someone else, the Prince, the perfect one. He got that asshole boy to say, "You're still too pretty," when the show was over, and after that they were friends, and all in all it seemed like acting was the thing for him.

Years later, he was living on Johnny's couch and fighting him and Turtle for counter space in Johnny's small, grubby bathroom. He was going to auditions where a freckle on your left ass cheek could lose you the job and a freckle on your right could get you a job offer that included the words 'do a little something for me.' He was wondering how proving the kid right had led him to a life of _this_.

And then he made a lot of money, and then he got his two million dollar lead, and then, and then, and then.

Of course, by the time he got to _and then_ , Vince was also in love with the asshole kid who'd told him to get off the fucking court, and somehow it all made sense.

~~~

Eric had gone to college while Vince went to LA. He studied some fucking thing like business or math or snowboarding or something, Vince had never been able to keep it straight. To pay for tuition, he worked at Sbarro's, and then he was managing the Sbarro's and all of his college stuff seemed to have just gone away. When Vince called him, Eric wasn't in between classes anymore, he was filling in for the shithead who'd quit without notice and he couldn't come to the phone. Or he was sleeping, like his mom said when Vince got a little worried and tried him at home, sleeping like a baby and smelling like the back of an oven.

A monkey could've managed the Sbarro's. A one-armed monkey, with three brain cells and just enough relentless loyalty to show up for every shift; enough dedication to show up on time. His mom said Eric would go higher, be store manager, then maybe a regional manager. He'd have enough money for his own place, he'd make his education a priority again, he'd get out of Queens.

"Really?" Vince asked her one time, while he was sitting on the couch in Johnny's apartment, staring up at the ceiling and counting the cracks. He hadn't experienced many earthquakes yet and was still sort of scared of them, afraid that cracked ceiling would come down on his head some night and he'd wind up crushed and dead. "You really think so?"

Eric's mom hesitated. Vince counted the cracks. Maybe he'd wind up worse than dead. Maybe one night, the ceiling would come down and he'd wake up with no legs.

Fuck that. No legs he could cope with. Maybe one night, the ceiling would come down and he'd wake up with some monster face and no left ear. He shivered, and Eric's mom finally said, "He's doing great, Vince. You'll see. You want me to have him call you tonight?"

"Yeah, thanks," Vince said, and gave her his number for the tenth time.

~~~~

Vince went home for the first time in two years after Ari Gold got on the fucking ball and realized he really did have star potential. It was the first time he'd had the money to go home. Fuck, it was the first time he'd had any money at all. He spent most of it on his mother and the shit apartment she'd made their home, and blew more of it partying.

Everywhere he went, people told him about Eric. About how Eric was doing all right for himself, saving up, planning to get a place, planning to get a car, planning, planning, planning.

"Good," Vince said over and over, smiling down at the latest girl to drape herself across his lap and giggle in his ear and mention Eric's name. They all seemed to think that mentioning Eric was the key to getting in Vince's pants and maybe in his wallet. He said, "I'm glad to hear it. I haven't talked to that little bitch in so long I thought maybe he was locked up," and "hey, honey, let's talk about something else," and "Eric always was the smart one," because if they wanted in his pants, he wasn't going to argue, and he'd lived in LA for a long time by then; he made sure there was nothing for them to steal.

~~~~~

He didn't go to Sbarro's until he'd been home almost a week. He hadn't planned to go at all. If Eric wanted a pizza-smelling hole to open up in the earth and swallow him, it wasn't Vince's place to argue, was it? He'd done his best. He'd called. He'd sent a postcard. He'd sent Eric copies of the scripts he was doing. He'd _tried_ to keep in touch, and he hadn't heard back in months. Eric had clearly made his choices, and Vince wasn't going to be some crying pussy about them.

Then his own mother said, "Eric, your friend from school?" one night when everyone's excitement at having him home had worn off enough for his father's bitter, drunken grumbling to be heard, like the good old times in all the worst ways. "You should go look him up, honey. Such a good boy. You know where he's working now?"

"Yeah, you should do that, baby bro." Vince's brother Pauly leaned across the table, grinning with all the teeth he had left. Paul was older, not the eldest, although since no one talked to Rich anymore, maybe Paul was moving up in the family ranks. God knew he was acting enough like their dad to be the heir, their father's golden boy. "You probably miss cocksucking."

Vince eyed Pauly, considering. Heavy with fat, stumbling drunk most the time, a bully so moronic Vince knew he looked like a genius in comparison. Messing him up for the insult would've been totally worth it, if their mother hadn't looked so resigned. Instead of smashing Paul's nose back into his skull, Vince pushed back his chair, kissed his mother's cheek, and walked out the door.

The hell of it was, he did sort of miss cocksucking. Everyone in New York was treating him like the king of pussy, but it was getting old. The next girl who told him that Eric was night manager at the Sbarro's down the street was going to get a bright smile and then Vince would say, "That's great, sweetheart. Which one? You think if I walked over there, he'd let me fuck his ass?"

He put his hands in his pockets, tucked his chin down into his collar and wandered down the street, around the corner. Eric wouldn't let him. Eric had been always been small and thin but tough, a smart-ass, a good guy, popular in his way. He'd had one girl or another breaking his heart since seventh grade, he'd said no when Vince asked him to go with to LA, he'd stopped returning Vince's calls, blah, blah, blah. Whatever. At the very least, Eric owed him at least a pizza, deep-dish, extra cheese, extra sauce, and Vince was going to collect.

~~~

He made a nuisance of himself until Eric came out to see what the hell was up, instead of asking for him. Payback was a bitch, even when it came with extra cheese.

"E!" he crowed when Eric came out from the back, throwing his arms out wide. "My man! How you been?"

"I was better before you starting getting disorderly in my restaurant," Eric said. "How the hell are you, Vince?"

They were getting looks from the employees and the three or four customers scattered through the booths, but Vince didn't care. Eric moved in for the hug, let Vince pound him on the back, and that was what mattered. He did smell like an oven, yeast and salt, hot and dry, and he looked tired. He had flour in his hair.

"I haven't even started getting disorderly. You want to see disorderly, hang out with me later," Vince said in his ear. "I have got the best weed, E, you don't even know. It makes the shit Johnny gave us look like dried wood shavings."

"I'm pretty sure he _was_ giving us dried wood shavings," Eric said. He squeezed one more time and let go, wiping his hands on his apron. "But yeah, all right. I only worked a double today. We should catch up a little after the restaurant closes. Where you gonna be?"

Vince leaned back against the counter and eyed him. "I think I'll be right here," he said. "Did you think I came all this way to see you, man? I came to _eat_."

Eric blinked at him, then rolled his eyes, shook his head. "On my dime, no doubt, you fucking superstar. Pardon my French, Stephie," he said to the girl behind the counter. "I'm gonna take fifteen. You can cover, right?"

Vince smiled at Stephie. "He's gonna take thirty," he said, then slung an arm over Eric's shoulder and dragged him away.

~~~

"I don't like this place," he said when they were settled across from each other in the booth, eating a pizza Stephie had brought them, something that'd been sitting out for maybe a little too long. It was still good; Eric was probably killing himself to make sure that every pie was perfect.

"You never liked any place I worked." Eric was picking at his own pizza, just eating the crust and the pepperoni. "And you know the extra cheese is gonna make you sick as fuck later."

"That's later. And seriously, E. I have been calling you for-fucking-ever, you can't return calls anymore because you're too busy at Sbarro's? That means I don't like Sbarro's. I come in here and you look like a stressed-out piece of shit and you've got flour glued to your head and burns on your hands, you think I'm gonna like it any better?" Vince snorted and shook his head. "Forget it."

Eric curled his fingers, hiding the burns. "Shut the fuck up," he said, leaning forward. "We do what we gotta do, Vince, right? You gotta go to LA so you can catch your break and make your money and fuck your way through life, I gotta work here till I can work somewhere better. Which I will. You just keep your nose out of it."

"Fuck that," Vince said, shoving his plate aside so he could lean forward too, almost nose to nose with Eric across the table. "I been home a week, and you know what I'm hearing? Eric's working like a dog, Eric's got a plan, Eric is still living at home, has no car, and works sixty hours a week at a fast-food joint. What're you making, E? Sixteen hundred a month? Seventeen?"

"Fifteen five," Eric said. "Goes a long way when you're living at home with no car, fucker. Unlike you, I'm actually _doing_ something here."

Vince shook his head. "You're spinning your wheels, E. And you know why I'm home? Cause I got a movie. I got _the_ movie, Eric, two million dollars, a house, a car, my name on the posters. Jessica fucking Alba for my co-star. I'm home cause I _made_ it."

Eric was pale, bright red spots on his cheekbones. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Good for you, man," he said to the tabletop and Vince couldn't even be mad 'cause he fucking meant it, Eric, he meant good for you when everyone else in Queens had meant fuck you, give me something.

"Thanks. E. Look at me." Vince smiled. "E, c'mon. That's not the only reason I came home. Ask me what else I came here for."

"What'd you come here for, Vince?"

"I came here to offer you a job."

Eric sat there for a long time, just staring. Vince stared back, smiling the whole time. He hadn't actually come home for that. He'd just come home for his mom, and to say a big fat fuck you to everyone who ever doubted him. But it was perfect, so fucking perfect he was amazed he hadn't thought of it before. Eric just had to get his ass on a plane and _go_ this time.

"Fuck you," Eric said, the red over his cheekbones even darker than before, as red as his hands. "Seriously, fuck you and your pity, Vince. Get out of here."

"Fuck you too," Vince said, still riding the high of having the perfect solution, leaning back and spreading his arms wide over the back of the booth, claiming it. "No."

Eric made a sound like he was choking and shoved his way out of the booth. "Finish your pizza, I hope it makes you sick as a dog, you asshole," he said. "And be gone before I come out here again, or I will not be held responsible for the beating I give you."

"I survived your beatings most of my life and let me tell you, E, they're nothing compared to what my trainer gives me. Go back to ruining your hands. I'll wait here till you're off shift, then we can smoke a little, talk a little, and pack your bags for LA."

"I hate you so much," Eric said, and stomped off to the kitchen, shaking his head and muttering to himself as he went.

Vince watched him go, smiling, then leaned out of the booth far enough to see Stephie at her station. "Hey, sweetheart," he said. "Where do we send his resignation, do you know?"

Stephie stared at him. "No one _resigns_ ," she said, like Vince was the stupidest shit ever. "You just _go_. Hey. Weren't you in _Galaxy Lion_?"

"Find me that address and I'll tell you all about it," Vince said, then sat back and sighed, completely satisfied with a job well done.

~~~

At the end of the night, Eric closed up the Sbarro's and sent all the rest of the employees home with a smile, like a good little wanna-be boss. He didn't even look at Vince, who trailed him out the door and down the street without saying anything, happy enough to be winning.

Eric's mother was waiting up for him with a bowl of soup. "Hey, Ma, look what I dragged in," he said to her as he took off his coat and sat down at the table, but his mother had already squeaked happily and wrapped Vince in a tight hug.

He hugged her back, sniffing at her hair. "Oh, Ma, you smell like cookies," he said. "Did you bake me cookies?"

"I must've known you were coming, Vinny," she said, beaming at him. She was the only person who could get away with calling him Vinny, ever, even his own mother didn't dare. "Let me get the plate--you want some soup?"

"Full of pizza," he said, patting his stomach. "But I could make room, if you needed me to eat some of those cookies for you."

"Of course I do," she said, and shoved him into a chair. "You sit and tell me how good life is for you."

"Pretty good," he said while she bustled around. "Hey, Ma, you think I could borrow your boy here for a while, bring him back to LA? I promise not to get him messed up too bad."

"Her boy has his own plans," Eric said, slurping his soup. "He doesn't need you screwing around with them, Superstar."

"I can get him a better job, more money," Vince said. "I can offer him more than Sbarro's, Ma, seriously."

Eric's mom brought the cookies to the table--sugar and white chocolate; God, he'd missed them--and eyed Vince over her glasses. "He's got plans, Vinny," she said.

"He's got burns on his hands."

"He's in the fucking room," Eric muttered, and his mother smacked him on the arm.

"You need the soap?" she said to him, glaring fiercely.

"No, Ma, sorry. But I _am_ in the room!"

"Stubborn bastard," Vince said, and Eric's mom smiled.

"Still here," Eric said, but he sounded mostly resigned to his fate, and neither Vince nor his mother looked at him.

"You can have him," Eric's mother said, and they both leaned back in their chairs and smiled at each other, satisfied.

Eric slurped the last of his soup. "Pretty much hate everyone right now," he said, and put his bowl in the sink.

~~~

"You wanna manage something, manage me," Vince said, leaning back against Eric's headboard. The guy had the same fucking twin bed as he'd had in high school, it was ridiculous. How could he not want to leave that behind?

Eric coughed. " _What?_ "

"Seriously, E! I'm getting big now, I can't handle all this shit myself--for one, it's too much, for two, it distracts me and for three, it makes me look like a fucking hack. I need a manager, and I want someone I can trust."

Eric shook his head and took another drag off the blunt Vince had rolled for them. "My mom is gonna fucking kill us," he muttered, coughing a little more. "Get Turtle to do it. Hell, get Drama to do it. It's not like he's doing anything else, is it?"

"Turtle and Johnny don't have the education," Vince said. "They don't have the smarts. And they sure as hell don't have the guts. C'mon, man. I'll pay you thirty-five hundred a month. Cash. And expenses."

"You'd have to pay me six thou just to get me on the plane, Vince," Eric said.

"Done."

"And I'd need to have my own place."

"Got a guest house."

"And five thousand a month."

"Okay."

Eric glared at him through the smoke. "Fucking--Vince, you fucking idiot, can't you at least haggle a little? Jesus, you _do_ need a manager, you're probably getting _scalped_ out there."

"I'll pay you four thousand a month cash and not a penny more," Vince said. "Is that enough haggling? Can you just say yes already?"

" _Yes_ ," Eric said, leaning forward and passing him the blunt. "God, I _hate_ you."

"Excellent," Vince said, and laid down. The ceiling was spinning above him, nice and slow like a kiddie-ride, and Eric's bed smelled like Eric. And a little bit like pizza sauce. It wasn't bad, really, now that he was taking Eric away from it. He blew smoke out, contented, and smiled at the ceiling. "I knew I could count on you."

~~~

"I'm not going home," he said when the blunt was smoked out. Eric had changed into thin pajama pants and laid down with him on the narrow bed, pressed together shoulder to knee, both of them riding a very sweet high.

Eric elbowed him in the side. "You can't do all this work to get me to LA and then decide you're throwing away your career, motherfucker," he said.

"I _meant_ I'm not going back to my mom's," Vince said. "Pauly's a dick, my father's a dipshit. I'm staying here with you until we leave."

"You just want to make sure I get on the fucking plane."

"I didn't think of that, but good point. That too." Vince wriggled around until he could get his jeans off, then worked Eric's rumpled comforter out from under his body and wrapped it around himself, getting cozy.

"Sleeping bag, asshole," Eric said but he was getting under the covers too, and reaching over to turn out the light. Vince let his eyes stay closed and faked a snore. "Fine, but you're in my spot and I jerked off twice before work."

"Three brothers, one bedroom," Vince said. "I've slept in worse." He moved over a little, turning onto his side to make room for Eric in the bed--he wasn't a huge guy, and Eric was a small guy, but a twin bed was not meant for two adults. It was nice, though, to be trapped close to Eric and warm under his covers, flushed with success and Eric's apparent acceptance that Vince wasn't sleeping on the fucking floor.

"That's sick," Eric said, but he turned on his side, too. There was suddenly more room but it felt even tighter. Vince had slept with a guy or two in LA, but it was never like this.

It didn't ever get really dark in their neighborhood. Even with the light off, the door closed, the curtains pulled tight over the window, Vince could see Eric's lashes flutter as he yawned, as he stretched before relaxing completely, curled up and smiling.

There was no good reason to do it. This was like being in grade school, was all. It was just Eric, who had always been comfortable letting Vince invade his space, who probably thought it was just Vince's big family that made him touchy-feely. Eric didn't know about the guys at school, in LA, he didn't know he'd fascinated Vince since third fucking grade when he'd said "You're too pretty. You join the team, you're gonna get your face messed up. Go try out for the play," and changed Vince's life forever. Eric hadn't returned Vince's phone calls, and had argued against going to LA. There was seriously no good reason, but when Eric sighed a little, already half-asleep, Vince reached out and put a hand on his hip, under the covers.

"You need to get up, you can crawl to the bottom of the bed," Eric mumbled without opening his eyes. He didn't move away from Vince's hand.

Vince's heart started to pound in his chest. There was still time to take this back, to make it normal, but fuck it. Eric was either going to open his eyes, take a look at Vince and beat the holy fucking hell out of him, or he was going to open his eyes, take one look at Vince, and give him what he'd always wanted. And in the end, he'd get Eric in LA cause now he'd said yes, no way was Vince letting him say no.

Eric opened his eyes and Vince smiled, slid his hand down, thumb rubbing circles over Eric's hip bone, fingers spread over the curve of his ass, feeling all the warmth and firm muscle of him through thin pajama pants.

Eric's hips twitched, not forward or away, really, just a twitch. Vince squeezed, still smiling, not looking away from Eric's eyes. "Hey, E," he said.

"Vince, I swear, I'm gonna fucking kill you some day," Eric said. "You wanna know why I didn't call you back? This is fucking why, cause I _knew_ this was gonna happen."

"You did not, you liar," Vince murmured, sliding a little closer, his hand moving up, fingers seeking the smooth, warm skin under Eric's T-shirt, bumping over Eric's ribs. "You never saw this coming."

"I saw this coming the first time you asked me to go to LA," Eric said. "You'd like to think you're the best fucking actor of this generation, Vince, but I got news for you. You wanted me so bad, it was all over your pretty face."

Vince grinned and slid his hand back to Eric's hip, this time under his pants. Eric was talking like he knew something, but he was breathing harder, too, and his hips jerked again when Vince settled his hand, ghosting his palm over the tightly-drawn skin, digging his fingertips into Eric's ass. "I'm not scared now," he said. "Are you?"

"Maybe," Eric said, shrugging a little. "But I said I'd go, didn't I? What's that tell you, Vince?"

"Everything I need to know," Vince said and he pushed on Eric's hip, rolled him onto his back and moved over him in one smooth motion, Eric going with it like they'd done it a hundred times before. Vince sat astride his hips and pushed Eric's T-shirt up, Eric helping, arching his back to give Vince room, until the T-shirt was tangled around his wrists, above his head. "Leave it," Vince murmured in his ear, kissing the corner of his jaw, the edge of his mouth, holding Eric's wrists against the pillow till he stopped trying to move them.

"Yeah, all right." Eric grunted when Vince ran his hands down his arms, scraped lightly with the edge of his nails.

"I wanna do this with more light," Vince said. He licked Eric's neck, curious, and Eric pushed his head back into the pillow. He tasted a little salty, like he'd been sweating. His stubble was finer than Vince's--he could shave every other day and no one would even notice. Vince had to shave twice if he didn't want to leave marks on people's skin.

He moved down Eric's chest, liking everything, Eric's chest hair, his freckles, his tight pecs and small nipples, the way his tattoo had a different texture than the rest of his skin. Everything was good, everything was perfect, like Eric had been designed to suit Vince, probably because Vince had developed his tastes with Eric in mind.

Eric's abs jerked under his mouth and he moved, restless, impatient, when Vince paused to mouth them curiously. He let his hands hold tight to Eric's hips and rested his chin on Eric's stomach just above the waistband of his pajama pants. "Careful, careful," he said. "Don't want to wake up your mother, do we?"

"You think I haven't had sex in this bed before?" Eric asked. "I know how much moving we can do, trust me. You just worry about you, Vince." His hips pushed up, demanding, and Vince laughed, dragged his thin cotton pajama pants down, kneeling to push them off his thighs. He left Eric all bound up at the knees, twisted in fabric like his wrists, but that was good. It _did_ something for Vince, and Eric was panting like he didn't mind at all.

"I want to _see_ this," he said, letting his hands slide back up Eric's body but carefully keeping them away from the most fun places, teasing.

"Some other time," Eric said, eyes gleaming in the dark, belly quivering under Vince's hands.

"Yeah?" Vince smiled at him, leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth again, wanting in there but not willing to push Eric _that_ far; three quarters of the guys he'd slept with would gladly suck him without ever kissing him once. Eric gasped against his ear but turned his head away even as he twisted his hips to get a touch. "Okay," Vince whispered and he moved his hands down, down, wrapped one around Eric's thick, solid dick and flattened the other over his pelvis to hold him in place.

"Suck me," Eric said. "Don't-- _fuck_ \--don't tease, Vince."

"Don't see why I shouldn't," Vince said, but he moved down Eric's body, trailing kisses again, biting gently a couple times to make Eric jerk. "It sounds to me like you've been teasing for years--knowing how I felt, staying out here anyway. That's not the kind of thing I want to _reward_ , is it?"

"Yeah," Eric said. "It is. _Please_."

"If you say so," Vince said, smiling against Eric's hot skin, and then he took him in.

He liked sucking cock--had since the first time he'd gotten the nerve up to try it. He hadn't yet been with a guy who tasted bad. Most kept their hands to themselves or touched him lightly, petting. You didn't want to piss off the guy who had your dick in his mouth, after all. He liked looking up and catching their gaze on him, liked smiling around them like, see this? This is no big fucking deal. This just gets me hot.

Eric was good. He kept his hands on the pillow where Vince had pushed them down. His head was tipped back, his mouth wide open and panting a little, dark and wet. When Vince choked a little, just for fun, Eric's whole body moved and then he was coming thick and sweet over Vince's tongue, sighing like it was his last breath and quivering everywhere.

Vince pushed down his own boxers, finally freeing his dick, and moved back up, one hand drawing the aftershocks out of Eric until he twisted away, muttering. The other hand gripped himself. "Help me out?" he breathed against Eric's ear and Eric snorted, pushed against him, his softening dick wet and hot against Vince's abs.

"Help yourself out," he said and Vince laughed. It wasn't going to take much, not with Eric all laid out for him like that. He pushed against Eric's stomach, rolled them both onto their sides, helped Eric kick the pajama bottoms the rest of the way down. He had enough room to pull Eric's thigh up, over his hip, and that was it. He had the perfect place and it only took a few rough thrusts of his hips against Eric's slick skin to bring himself off, messy and hot between their bodies.

~~~

They sacrificed Eric's T-shirt to the clean-up cause and then settled back down on their sides like before, but this time naked, with the air caught between them smelling like sex.

"I'm still dating girls," Eric said when they were both breathing normal again, and Vince snorted, pulling him closer.

"Did I ever say I wanted to not date girls?" he asked, nuzzling against the side of Eric's neck.

"I'm just telling you, if my job depends on women all over the world wanting you to fuck them, I'm not gonna let you mess that up."

"No one will know," Vince said. "I'm cool about it. I've been cool about this for _years_."

Eric opened his eyes, smiled. "Right," he said. "God, we're screwed."

Vince grinned back at him. "It'll be good though."

"Yeah," Eric said after a moment, then he leaned forward and kissed Vince, light, quick, just a brief slide of hot tongue and warm, wet mouth. "It'll be the best."

~~~~~

 


End file.
